


don't you worry honey, 'cause I can't say no

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Rape, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other, Panic Attacks, Sexual Abuse, but idk the rest of the fic was so miserable so i pulled a jonny and, it kinda takes over the end of the fic lmao, lemme know if y'all think I should change the rating, literally of the sexual assault tags. that's what the fic is about, the jm wasn't supposed to be so prominent tbh, this feels too heavy for a mature fic but not extreme enough for explicit so like, vaguely. kinda, vomiting is mentioned a couple times, where do I even begin to tag this god okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24852928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A look at the painful parts of Jon's life. And then maybe something less painful, just as a nice change of pace.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Mr. Spider/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144
Collections: Anonymous





	don't you worry honey, 'cause I can't say no

**Author's Note:**

> I uh. Don't really have an explanation, tbh, other than that I had an uncomfortable dream and didn't feel good. A lot of this actually made me feel really gross and bad while writing it, but I felt compelled to finish it, thus the (probably) ooc Jonmartin fluff at the end. 
> 
> If this feels choppy, please know it's partially a conscious style choice, and partly because I was writing as fast as possible. This actually got out faster than most of my stuff usually does.

Jon never thought he’d miss the hitting and the yelling. 

He’s read enough to know what’s happening, sort of. Usually, this happens between adults in love. Jon isn’t an adult, though, and this doesn’t feel like love. 

It sure feels like hate, though, like burning and a sickness in the pit of his tummy. He knows _he_ doesn’t like him, and through the pain and discomfort he kind of wonders what the point of this is. 

_He_ pulls off eventually, shoves Jon away and tells him to go clean up before his grandma sees. He tells him if he tries to tell her about this, he’ll make sure he’ll never see the light of day again, and Jon is too dizzy to really be scared by that. 

He does eventually get scared, though. In the shower, he vomits, and he starts to cry quietly as the pain and terror finally set in. The water drums on him, and he’s filled with an ache, like he’s just lost something he can’t get back. 

* * *

It doesn’t end there, of course. As long as that man is working for his grandmother, he has access to Jon, and Jon doesn’t have a chance to fight back, now does he? 

Jon starts to grow resentful of it. He fantasizes about growing big and strong, stronger than _him_ , big enough to hit him back. But then he backtracks, thinking that there must be a reason this is happening to him, that it’s wrong for him to want revenge so badly. 

Later, when he’s older, he learns that there really was no point to it. It was a matter of a nineteen year old being frustrated and...and _horny_ , and he just needed someone to take it out on. Jon finds it hard to blame him for choosing him, given what an easy target he’d been. 

Especially since he’d saved his life. Even if it was unintentional. He still feels like that counts for _something_. 

* * *

When the incident with Mr. Spider comes, Jon cries, mourning the person who hurt him, grateful that he saved him, knowing he doesn’t deserve it. He hates the part of them that’s relieved, happy that he’s finally, _finally_ free from the torment. 

...he is free, right? It’s over? It’s over. 

* * *

Stupid. He should’ve known better. 

* * *

Mr. Spider lays in the bed with him, and Jon doesn’t move. 

He continues not to move as Mr. Spider strokes his spindly arms over him, slipping under his pajamas. His oversized, bulbous body crushes him into the bed, but Jon doesn’t try to squirm away, doesn’t dare make a sound. He’s learned by now that just makes it worse. 

He doesn’t cry anymore when it’s over. He’s past that, it’s happened too many times now. He just waits for Mr. Spider to crawl off of him, and then he rolls over onto his side and tries to fall back asleep in his own mess. 

At least the spider has the decency to stroke his hair as he falls asleep. 

* * *

It had started with his bully. And then it was Mr. Spider. 

He’d thought it’d be over when he’d grown up and moved out of his old house. And it had been, for a while. He’d even had a girlfriend for a brief period of time, before she broke it off with him for being too distant. 

But then there is Elias. Charming, smooth Elias, who makes him feel comfortable and tells him he’s pretty and asks him to become his head archivist because no one else can fit the role quite like he does. 

He hadn’t mentioned this would be part of the job. Jon wishes he could be surprised, but he’s more just dully disappointed. 

Once again he’s trapped in this cycle, hands groping him where he doesn’t want them to, his life revolving around someone else’s needs. He hates that the routine is so familiar, hates that the bite marks Elias gives him are so similar to the spider’s. Hates that his hands are so rough and human, because at least with the spider he could attribute it to nightmares spurred on by previous trauma, injuries clawed by his own hands during his restless thrashing in the night. 

He tries to look on the bright side. At least Elias doesn’t beat him. At least Elias holds him afterwards, sometimes. At least when Elias holds him by his jaw or in his lap or against the wall he stares at him with such adoration, like he’s something precious. 

His bully never did that. Mr. Spider never did that. It’s not what he wants, but it’s much preferable to what he’s known before. 

It almost makes him wonder if he _does_ want it. 

* * *

He lets Elias swallow him whole, devour every part of him until there’s nothing left. He feels like a shell of himself, and he can’t tell if this numbness is better. 

He has a cot in document storage. It’s supposed to be for late nights, but then Prentiss attacks Martin, and well, despite everything Jon hasn’t stopped caring about his assistants. They were the beginnings of friends once, before he started to shut down on them, and he refuses to be responsible for another person’s death. He refuses. 

There’s just one problem, though. A problem that needs to be addressed. 

“Elias.” 

Elias lifts his head. He looks amused, quirking an eyebrow up. “Yes?” 

Jon shifts as he’s scrutinized, as if Elias could pry into him with just his eyes, looking under his clothes and into his mind. “Martin’s staying in document storage.” 

“I’m aware, yes. What of it?” 

Jon wants to throw up. He inhales sharply, rubbing his arms to keep himself from shivering. 

“It’s not going to be me in that bed. S-so...” 

“You’re worried I’m going to molest him?” 

Jon’s eyes sting, and he flinches like he’s been struck. Elias smiles, and he beckons Jon closer, closer, closer, til he’s close enough for him to pull into his lap. Jon shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the movement he feels between Elias’s legs. 

“No need to worry, Jon. I don’t have any interest in him.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind Jon’s ear. “I _am_ curious as to why you care.” 

Jon doesn’t know how to answer. He just knows that his stomach drops at the thought of Elias turning his attention to Martin or Tim or Sasha. 

“Maybe I’m jealous,” he says flatly, hoping to distract him. “Maybe I want you all to myself.” 

Elias smiles, sliding his hands up under his shirt. “Maybe that can be arranged.” 

* * *

It happens when, one day, Jon is working late. 

He’s walking by document storage when he hears voices, and he pauses by the door. It’s Martin, of course, who else would be in there, but there’s also...

...there’s also Elias. He sounds smug. 

He can feel his heart drop into his stomach, panic making his hands shake, nearly dropping the papers in his hands. He stumbles over to the door, trying to get a better listen of what’s going on in there, but it’s hard to hear over the rushing in his ears. 

Martin. Martin sounds...displeased. Distressed, maybe. Sweat beads on the back of Jon’s neck and back, his eyes swimming. His shaking hand vibrates the doorknob as he holds it, debating busting down the door and demanding to know what’s happening in there. If Martin is okay. 

Martin makes a breathy sound, and Jon can’t tell if it’s a sigh or a gasp or a _sob_. Jon’s resolve breaks, and he throws the door open, crashing into the room, a stumbling mass of shaking limbs and sweaty strands of hair. His breath catches in his throat, and his vision is blurred. He thinks he might be crying, but he hopes to god that he isn’t. 

The first thing his eyes register is Elias smiling down at him, his face sharp and all too terribly pleased. His teeth have been replaced with those of a shark, and his gaze seems to bore directly into Jon, ripping into him in a way that’s all too familiar. His backside and throat aches at the sight of it. 

Jon screams. Falls to his knees, if he hadn’t been there already. 

“Jon!” 

Martin shoves himself forward, concern seamlessly melted into his soft features. He seems...fine. 

“Are you okay?” Jon warbles, the words somehow making their way through the haze. He tries to pull himself up to his feet, but he stumbles, falling forward on his hands. 

“A-am _I_ okay?! Jon, are you kidding me?!” Martin shakes his head in disbelief. He shoots a wary glance at Elias, before coming forward, kneeling down in front of him, looking him over with a careful eye. 

Jon’s stomach jumps, and he stares up at Elias, wild eyed. He must’ve done something to warrant that kind of look. What was it? What did he do? 

“Seems like you’re in a bit of a state, Jon,” Elias says, reeking of sickening delight. “Maybe you need a bit of rest, hmm?” 

Jon almost pukes. Martin’s hands lift in a placating gesture. 

“Let’s get you on the cot, yeah?” he soothes. “Can I help you up, Jon?” 

Jon doesn’t respond. He continues to stare down Elias. What did he do. What did he do. What did he do. 

“Martin, just grab him. He’s not going to answer.” 

In the periphery of his vision, Martin looks horrified. But then Elias takes a step forward and Martin sucks in a breath, shaking his head. 

“I-I’ll do it. I’ll do it, just...” He sighs, shaking his head again. “He doesn’t seem to like you right now...” 

“Hmm.” 

Jon’s eyes flicker to Martin. Shakily, he lifts his hand and clings to the front of his jumper. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, more desperate this time. 

“I’m fine, Jon,” Martin whispers. “Please let me help you.” 

The next moments are a blur. Jon ends up shoeless, glassesless in the cot, Martin in a chair by his side. Elias lingers in the background. Jon hasn’t taken his eyes off him since Martin lifted him up. 

He’s never, _ever_ hated him this much before. 

“Poor little Archivist,” Elias sneers, but it might be all in Jon’s head. “You’re losing it, aren’t you?” 

Martin doesn’t say anything. Jon’s probably imagining it. He lets his eyes droop closed, only for a moment, before his chest hurts with the panic of not knowing. 

“You should sleep, Jon,” Elias scolds, “you look absolutely exhausted.” 

Jon stares at him blearily for a moment. Then, he looks at Martin. He reaches out blindly, grabbing tight when he finds his hand. 

“Stay,” he says, his voice soft, breaking. “Please.” 

Martin looks heartbroken. He squeezes back, even tighter. “Of course.” 

Jon keeps his eyes open, watching. He doesn’t let himself drift until Elias finally leaves. 

* * *

_Spider legs. They’re crawling on him, inside of him, working his way through his insides._

_Elias stares down at him, watching. His face isn’t physically smiling, but Jon can tell that’s his expression anyway. Something pulls in his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s some twisted form of affection or pure and utter hatred._

_He wants to scream, cry out, but a familiar pair of hands hold his jaw shut. “Don’t say shit,” the accompanying voice sneers, and despite this Jon wants to tell him he’s sorry. He settles for nuzzling into his palm, squeezing his eyes shut._

“Jon?” 

_Jon’s eyes fly open, the somewhat familiar voice echoing through the room (arena? Where is he?)._

“Jon.” 

_Who is that? It’s not his usual tormentors. The hands leave his mouth, briefly resting on the sides of his head before disappearing entirely. Elias starts to fade from his view, and the spider legs freeze in their slithering._

_The voice feels warm. Safe. Safe...?_

“Jon!” 

_The legs disentangle himself from his guts. He breathes in, sitting up on the slab he’s suspended on._

_The world melts away from him. It’s replaced with_ darkness, and he recognizes it as the back of his eyes. 

* * *

Martin. Martin is holding his hand, gently shaking his shoulder. Jon opens his eyes, seeing his gentle, once again concerned face. 

“Martin,” he says softly, his eyelids still heavy. 

“Hey,” Martin says softly back, patting his shoulder gently. “I’m sorry for waking you, you just...you were whimpering and convulsing, and it…” He sighs. “It just seemed like you were having a bad dream.” 

“I was,” Jon says without thinking, before wincing and looking away. 

“Oh.” Martin goes quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.” 

He starts to pull his hands away, but Jon squeezes his hand tighter, shifts his head to press his cheek against his knuckles. Martin hesitates, before starting to stroke his hair. 

“Martin,” Jon whispers, his voice shaking. 

“Do you get nightmares often?” Martin says at the same time. 

Jon smiles, sad and tired. Martin looks heartbroken all over again. 

“Can we talk, Jon? Please?” 

Jon closes his eyes, leaning into his hand. “What were you talking to Elias about?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“It’s close enough.” 

Martin sighs, giving Jon’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t really know what it was about, honestly. He just kept asking bland questions about how I felt about living here. I was just trying to go to bed.” 

...Jon doesn’t know what to say to that. The information makes him nauseous. “He wasn’t harassing you?” he asks quietly. 

“Er...no? I mean I guess, but it was more annoying than threatening.” Martin goes quiet, his thumb rubbing against Jon’s temple. “It really freaked me out that you looked so scared. I haven’t seen you look that scared.” A sigh. “I haven’t seen you much at all lately, really.” 

The silence settles around them. Jon eventually sits up, still clinging to Martin’s hand. 

“You go into Elias’s office a lot. That’s really the only time I see you.” Martin swallows thickly, catching Jon’s tired gaze. “Jon, why were you so scared when you opened the door?” 

Jon turns his eyes down, staring at his hand, enfolded in Martin’s larger, warmer hand. Finally, he looks back up, trying to keep the burning out of his eyes. 

“I thought he might’ve been hurting you,” he whispers shakily. 

They’re thrust into a heavy, incredulous silence. Martin’s breathing grows audible, distraught, and Jon can see the wheels turning in his head, putting things together. 

“You...you thought Elias was hurting me?!” Martin’s voice is startled, tight. “J-Jon...?!” 

“I thought I heard a sob. You sounded upset. I-I dunno, I guess I overreacted...” 

Martin’s eyes look wet, and he goes quiet as he processes this information. Then, quietly, “Jon?” 

“Yes Martin?” 

“Did you...” A swallow. “Did you think he was hurting me because he’s...” 

Martin audibly struggles for a few moments. His voice is strangled when he finally speaks. 

“Jon, is he hurting you?” 

Jon goes quiet, trying to decide how to answer. Martin mistakes it for hesitation. 

“I-it’s just...I saw the way you looked at him, and the way you seem to flinch around him, and you don’t have to answer, really, I just—“ 

“It doesn’t always hurt.” 

Martin doesn’t seem to know what to do with that. Jon smiles grimly, and makes a decision.

“I’ve had other...er, _others_ , when I was younger, who uh...did the same. Elias is much gentler than they ever were. I guess I’m grateful for that, at least.” He tilts his head. “But it, um...I dunno. I don’t want it.” He wants to make that clear. He thinks he forgets that himself, sometimes. “I don’t want it. I just...can’t say no. It’s hard, and he’s...y’know…”

Martin looks pale, sweaty, like he’s going to throw up. Jon looks away, regretting being so chatty. It’s just been so long since someone’s listened. Since anyone’s seemed to care about what’s happening to him, what _has_ happened to him. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Martin says shakily. He looks close to tears. “I-I _am_ understanding this correctly, right? You’re saying you...you’re saying he...” 

“You can say it,” Jon whispers. 

Martin hiccups, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. “You’re saying he sexually abuses you, right?” he asks quietly, his voice trembling. “And that it’s happened to you when you were...when you were a child?” 

Jon closes his eyes against the onslaught, a weird ripple of emotions assaulting his insides. He nods, unable to do much else. It’s in words. It’s out in the open. How does he deal with that? 

It goes quiet. It sounds like Martin is crying. Jon doesn’t dare open his eyes to check. 

“Can I hug you?” 

Martin’s voice is tight, barely above a whisper. It startles Jon into looking at him, seeing Martin’s tear stained face. Numbly, he nods. 

Martin’s arms are warm as they wrap around him. One hand cups the back of his head as it falls easily against Martin’s chest, the other rests solidly against his back. Jon closes his eyes again, inhaling the scent of Martin’s jumper. 

It shouldn’t all hit him then. It’s been a while since he’s been held, since he’s cried. But as Martin cries quietly into his hair, tears of his own start to slip out, a few at a time at first, before turning into a steady stream. 

Next thing he knows, he’s sobbing in earnest, salty warm tears and snot leaking out of him, soaking into Martin’s chest. He hiccups and gasps and wails, mourning a childhood lost, an adulthood trapped and terrified. 

Martin holds him tighter, stroking his back soothingly. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to make it better with cheap platitudes. He just lets Jon cry until his chest aches and his eyes itch, until his face is puffy and the pit in his stomach has lessened ever so slightly. 

They hold each other for a while. Martin is warm, and his hug doesn’t expect anything. Jon smiles faintly despite himself, and nuzzles deeper into his chest. 

“Have you slept at all yet?” he asks quietly, voice muffled by fabric. 

Martin hesitates before shaking his head. “I dozed off a bit while you were sleeping, if that counts for anything?” He sighs, shifting as if readying to pull away. “I guess I could...sleep on the couch? Or I can stay here, if you don’t want me to leave...” 

Jon lifts his head and shakes it. “Come onto the cot with me.” 

Martin flushes. “Will I even fit?” 

“I can press up against the wall. I’ll make room for you.” 

“Jon...” 

“Martin.” Jon tugs at his arm insistently. “Please.” 

Martin stares at him for a moment. Then, he smiles, his eyes warm. 

“O-okay. Thank you, Jon.” 

Jon shakes his head. “No, thank _you_. I...” He swallows, shaking his head. “I dunno. I just feel better now. Thank you for listening to me.” 

“Oh Jon, it’s no problem at all. I care about you, you know?” 

Jon doesn’t know. His breath slips from him in a gasp, and he looks down, his cheeks warming. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, afraid to say more, lest he start to cry again. 

They stay like that for a moment, before they both start to move in tandem. Jon lays down on the cot, shifting so his back is against the wall, and Martin takes off his glasses and shoes before laying down next to him. He wraps an arm around him, and Jon snuggles close, nuzzling into his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he says for the third time. “I...”

He thinks about it for a moment. He shouldn’t say it. It’s too soon. He’s probably just riding high on emotion and the fragility of baring himself to another person. 

He shakes his head. He looks up, finding Martin staring down at him thoughtfully. 

“Can I kiss your forehead?” he asks, his voice shaky, nervous. 

Jon’s heart flutters, and he nods. Martin presses his lips to his skin, warm and soft, and Jon lets his eyes fall shut. 

He still doesn’t say it. But he thinks Martin can feel it. And he thinks Martin wants to say it too. 

“Sleep well, Jon,” he murmurs. 

“You too, Martin,” Jon murmurs back. 

And they do just that. 

* * *

In the morning, Jon tells him about the others who hurt him. About his bully and Mr. Spider, and he waits for Martin to laugh at him for claiming to be assaulted by some supernatural force. Martin doesn’t. 

Martin tells him about his own lost childhood, and they both cry a little more. They talk about Elias, and ways to get away from him, and Jon stares at him in wonderment, trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone cares. Things start to feel a little less hopeless. 

Things aren’t okay. They may never be okay. But Jon starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s found something good here.

**Author's Note:**

> At least this let me put in a scene I wasn't able to put into any of my other fics into something, lmao. Let me know what you guys think? I'm actually kinda proud of this, some parts at least. 
> 
> Title is from Pretty Little Head by Eliza Rickman, my go-to trauma song.


End file.
